


Catch a Flerken by the Toe

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain Marvel (2019) Spoilers, Cats, Crack, Gen, Pick a side Goose, Rumlow's Fragile Masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: Agent Rumlow said not to touch anything in Director Fury's office.But surely that didn't apply to this adorable cat?





	Catch a Flerken by the Toe

“Listen,” Rumlow says. “This isn’t a job interview. It ain’t a meet and greet. You go in, you give your report, and then you shut the hell up unless Fury asks you to clarify, got it? You’re not here to impress him. He sure as hell won’t be impressed.”

Murphy nods, his wide-eyed stare as vacant and idiotic as it’s been since the second they were introduced. Fucking code breakers. They belong in cubicles, behind a computer and out of everyone’s way. Rumlow doesn’t give a damn how sensitive the information was; there’s no good reason that this stupid kid had to come along in the field. STRIKE’s not a daycare and Rumlow has enough on his plate without babysitting. Even now that they’re back at the base, he still can’t breathe easy. If this idiot is as clueless with Fury as he’s been with everyone else, it’ll be Rumlow’s head on a platter.

Murphy brought kale chips into the field. _Kale chips._ And then he had the nerve to offer them around. Decades from now on his deathbed, Rumlow’s pretty sure his greatest regret will be not finding the chance to slam his gunstock against Murphy’s constantly running mouth to knock out his teeth.

“You’re not clever,” Rumlow continues. “This isn’t your chance to prove yourself. Waste the director’s time or piss him off, and you’ll be standing on the sidewalk with all your shit in a box before you can blink.”

“Most of my stuff would have to stay here,” Murphy says. “It’s all classified. Well, I guess not my cat posters. And I’m sure they’d let me take my tillandsias, but the cubicles would be so dreary without them and they’re really low maintenance, so I’d probably just leave them for—”

“Shut up.”

Fury’s got to see that Rumlow can’t be held responsible for this stupidity, right? How did this kid survive to adulthood, much less make it into a top secret intelligence agency? If anyone deserves to be strung up for this, it’s the fuckwits who hired him. They must have been stoned out of their minds when they made that choice.

“You make me look bad,” Rumlow warns, “and I’ll break your spine into a pile of gravel. Got it? Wait out here until he calls you in, and don’t even think about trying to open the door.”

“The door’s already open.” Murphy points.

So it is. And Fury’s not at his desk. Great. Rumlow doesn’t have time to babysit until he comes back from whatever fire he’s putting out; Mercer went to Medical once the Quinjet landed and Rumlow needs to check in on her before he reports to Pierce. Wonderful.

“Go sit down.” Rumlow feels like he’s baring his teeth. Maybe that’ll finally get the severity of the situation through Murphy’s thick skull. “Don’t touch anything or I’ll force feed you your own tongue, understand? Don’t even look at anything. Just sit down and pretend you don’t exist until the director gets here.”

“Director Fury has a cat?” Murphy asks, oblivious as ever.

“No,” Rumlow nearly says, except then an orange pile of fluff on Fury’s chair lifts its head, and it’s definitely a cat. It narrows its eyes at Rumlow, like even it’s pissed that he brought this dumbass into the office. Since when does Fury have a cat?

Maybe it’s some experimental tech, a spy cam hidden in a realistic animal shell. There’s no way the director has time for pets, and what self-respecting man would have any cat, let alone a lazy Garfield-looking thing?

“I love cats,” Murphy says.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rumlow warns again. Then he turns on his heel and washes his hands of the whole mess.

*

There’s no shortage of perks to being head of SHIELD. One of Fury’s favorites is that he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone. Sure, Pierce checks in from time to time and the World Security Council always finds something to complain about, but for the most part, he answers to no one.

But when Fury approaches his office to find some fresh-faced man in a tac vest cuddling Goose like a baby, he figures he’s going to have to come up with an explanation for how this guy’s going to end up scarred beyond recognition, and probably with his face rotting off.

“Aren’t you the cutest thing?” the man gushes. Murphy, Fury thinks his name is. Isaac Murphy. The code breaker that STRIKE Team Alpha took with them to Lebanon. Great. Fury won’t even get the chance to hear his intel before Goose claws out his throat. “Aren’t you cute? Who’s a pretty girl? Who’s a pretty baby kitty? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

“She doesn’t like to be held.”

Murphy starts when Fury speaks, but he makes no move to put the flerken down. “Director!” he says. “Murphy—that is, I’m Isaac Murphy—I mean, hello, I mean—”

Goose raises one paw and taps Murphy’s face. Fury braces himself. Would it be wrong to hope Goose eats this kid in one go? At least it’d leave Fury with less of a headache to deal with.

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says. “Was I neglecting you? It’s okay, kitty cat, I’ll give you all the attention you want. Yes, I will!” He starts rubbing Goose’s stomach, and then lowers his head to press his face into her fur, to Fury’s horror.

That’s it, there’s no way this won’t end with the office showered in gory bits. “Don’t—” Fury starts, but Goose is already gripping Murphy’s head between her paws.

Except that’s it. The damn alien is just wrapping herself around the code breaker to give him better leverage to _blow raspberries_ against her stomach. She’s _purring._ If Fury tried that, he’d lose his other eye and probably most of his skull, and he’s been taking care of Goose for over a decade since Danvers flew back into space. Unbelievable.

Fury briefly considers chucking Murphy into one of Medical’s CT scanners to confirm that he’s an alien too, because that’s the only way this is fair, but he just resigns himself to the betrayal with a sigh. “Traitor,” he mutters.

Murphy finally looks up, his hair tousled from Goose’s paws. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Agent Rumlow told me not to touch anything, but your cat jumped on my lap, and I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Forget it,” Fury says. The start of a headache throbs at his temples. “Just tell me what you found.”

*

Mercer’s expected to make a full recovery, and Pierce was pleased with Rumlow’s report. Not that it’ll matter if Murphy’s been even a tenth as annoying with Fury as he was with STRIKE. Sure, the director has to know it’s not Rumlow’s fault this idiot exists—only divine intervention can be blamed for that—but so what? He’ll want to lash out at _someone,_ and Rumlow will be the next available target after Murphy himself.

Rumlow won’t grovel. He’s better than that. But he’s not above using any excuse that could save his skin, running all of them through his head while he makes his way back to Fury’s office.

_I believe he concussed himself in the field, sir. But I had to take him to you before Medical because of the sensitivity of the information._

_I’m shocked at Code-Breaking’s low standards for employment, sir. I’d be happy to schedule a termination hearing. My team’s testimony will be enough, you won’t have to do a thing._

_Clearly someone on Tech’s end sent him to sabotage us, sir. If anything, I should be commended for succeeding despite these machinations._

Fuck it. Maybe he’s not above groveling after all.

“Director Fury,” Rumlow begins.

But Murphy’s still sitting there. Rumlow has a brief glimmer of hope that Fury’s reading him the riot act, that he’ll get a chance to see the tears in the stupid hippie’s eyes as he’s escorted out of the building. That’d make it all worth it, even if Rumlow’s kicked out right behind him.

But no. The cat’s on the desk now and Murphy’s petting it, rambling on. And Fury’s petting the damn thing with him.

“What I do about shedding is use a rubber glove,” Murphy’s saying, and Fury actually _nods_. “If you run a little water over it and then rub your hand on the furniture, any loose hair comes right off! Sometimes it’s hard to get it to stop sticking to the glove, but it still works better than anything else I’ve tried—”

“What in the whole fucking shit?” Rumlow mutters, making his getaway before he gets sucked into the vortex of stupidity that Murphy clearly generates.

**Author's Note:**

> This occurs before Murphy was recruited into HYDRA. Had it taken place after, Goose likely would not have been so accommodating. But then again, Murphy is a cat whisperer and that may apply to flerkens regardless of his affliations.


End file.
